


These Moments Are Golden, and So Are These Pancakes.

by Actual_Writing_Trashcan



Series: Colossus Hyperfixation Collection [20]
Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Mild Language, SO MUCH FLUFF, a fuckton of fluff one might say, according to this fic at least, because that's all this is, but that's really it, but yeah no real warnings, but you've got him too, discussion of marriage and marital traditions, fluff and pancakes, guaranteed to cause real cavities, just fluff, maybe too much fluff, nah there's no such thing, talk about sex and drinking, that's how fluffy this fic is, unless you count choking on a bite of pancake for a hot second, welcome to the fluff fest, well aside from piotr, what else do you need in life, which you will then thank me for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-30 00:27:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16275449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Actual_Writing_Trashcan/pseuds/Actual_Writing_Trashcan
Summary: You and Piotr ponder the future while you enjoy breakfast together.That's it. Enjoy this sweet little blurb.Arguably set somewhere around "Storms on a Cloudless Day" (or whatever the fuck I titled that fic, I can never remember; you know what I'm talking about, it's fine).





	These Moments Are Golden, and So Are These Pancakes.

Golden sunlight filters through the windows surrounding the breakfast nook. The sky, robin’s egg blue, is perfectly clear. Green grass stretches out, broken up only by bushes bearing beautiful blooms or trees that stretch towards the sky, green, thick canopies casting shadows on the ground below.

You smile, content as you sip at your coffee and admire the perfect summer’s day. There’s no school, no missions, and you’ve already finished your training for the morning. Your options for the day are quite literally unlimited.

But now? Right now, you’re going to have breakfast with your boyfriend.

You smile up at Piotr as he walks in with two heaping plates of food. “I’m starting to think that Russian cooking only comes in two settings: one person or twenty.”

He smiles and shrugs. “Consequence of growing up on farm, I guess.”

You rub your hands together as you eye your plate. There are several crepe-like pancakes folded on it, along with some jams and some butter on the side of the plate. “So, these are  _blinis_. I have to say, I’m excited to expand my pancake palate.”

“ _Da._  Back home, my  _mamochka_  would make these for weekends and birthdays. In summer, we would have them in fresh fruit, left overs from when she would make jam or can fruits. In winter, she’d take out jams so we could have taste of summer with breakfast.”

You smile as you spread a thick layer of strawberry jam on your  _blinis_. “That sounds wonderful. I--” Your comment dies in your throat when you realize what Piotr’s putting on his  _blinis_.

Sour cream. Cottage cheese. Ground up sausage meat.

“Uh.” You blink once. Twice. “Why are you tormenting your pancakes?”

“These are traditional toppings,” he says defensively as he folds one  _blini_  over a mixture of cottage cheese and ground sausage and starts spreading sour cream on top. “Full of protein. Good for getting energy.”

“Who in their right mind puts  _sour cream_  on  _pancackes_?”

“ _Blinis_.” He grins cheekily at you. “And these really are traditional toppings. It is just savory version.”

“That’s so wrong. I can’t even process that.”

“Sometimes, I also add cabbage.”

You gag theatrically as he chuckles at your antics. “Stop. I will hear no more of this blasphemy.” You take a massive bite of your  _blini_  to get the mental image of  _pancakes_  paired with  _cabbage_  out of your head --and moan. “Oh man, this is so  _good_.”

“You like them.”

“ _Yes_. That’s it, it’s official. You’re doing all the cooking when we get married.”

He chuckles again as he attacks his own heap of  _blinis_. “Is that so?”

“Yes. I want to eat like this all the time. Do you have any idea how good this is?”

“Clearly not,” he says with a wry smile. “It is easy to make in advance. You have to let batter rest overnight. Simple enough to make in batches.”

You wink at him. “See? It’ll be easy for you to keep up with my constant demands?”

He winks back. “Or, I could teach you how to make for yourself.”

“That sounds boring.” You pause for a minute, then add in a softer, significantly less teasing voice “I don’t hear you protesting the ‘marriage’ part, though.”

“Why would I?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. People change their minds.”

He puts his hand on top of yours and give it a comforting squeeze. “I will not. I know what I want my future to look like.”

Warmth floods through your body at his sincerity, and you duck your head to hide your bashful smile. “I figured... as soon as we’ve got a better handle on what’s causing my hallucinations... we could pick a date?” You peek up at him through your lashes. “Does that sound good?”

“ _Da_.” He smiles softly at you. “Do you have idea for what time of year?”

“I think summer would be best. We wouldn’t have to schedule it around your teaching responsibilities that way.”

“That is probably wisest choice.”

“Would you want us to have the wedding in Russia?”

“ _Nyet_.” He swallows another massive bite as he shakes his head. “It would be very difficult to plan that way. And it would be easier to fly my family over here than to fly all our friends to Russia.”

You take a moment to spread some more jam on your  _blinis_ , then ask “Where would you want to live once we’re married? I mean, I like being here with everyone else just fine, but I kind of like the idea of having our own space.  _Casa de la Rasputin_.”

He grins and shrugs. “Somewhere close, so I can keep teaching --and so we can get here quickly if we are needed for mission.”

“You want to keep doing missions once we’re married?”

He freezes, head to toe, and his blue eyes radiate shock and guilt as he looks up at you. “... _Da_?” He winces. “Did you...”

“I’m fine with it. I didn’t know if  _you_  would want to stop, go the full domestic route instead.”

He relaxes again and resumes eating. “Being X-Man is important to me. I do not think I could stop if I wanted to.”

You have to hide an amused smile from him. You already knew that about Piotr --he’s too hardwired to help others and set an example for the younger eyes watching him to ever step away from doing the right thing. “Are there any Russian traditions I should know about ahead of time?”

“Well, there is the  _vykup nevesty_.”

“Gesundheit.”

He chuckles and smiles wryly. “It means I have to pay ransom to marry you.”

“Wait, I’m getting kidnapped?”

“Not exactly. The family and friends of bride have groom perform tasks or give gifts for the bride. Then, they try to trick him by having another person come out dressed up as bride. Once groom figures out he has been tricked, he has to perform more tasks or pay another ransom to marry real bride.”

You grin slowly. “You realize that Wade’s basically my brother, right?”

“I do.”

“Which means he gets to legitimately prank the shit out of you, right?”

“ _Da_.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

He shrugs and smiles brightly. “I’ll be marrying you. I don’t care what Wade does.”

You can’t help but smile at that. “Hey, it’s your headache. Not mine.”

“There is a tradition that the bride and groom have to take shot of bitter vodka at reception, then kiss after to take taste away.”

“Sold. We’re doing it.”

He snorts. “How did I know you would say that.”

“Uh, because it involves my lips touching yours. Easy guess. Anything else I should know about?”

“Well, there is the consummation.”

You almost choke on a piece of  _blini_  --and if it weren’t for the fact that you’re talking to Piotr and you know he’d never do anything that’d make you choke like that, you’d suspect he timed that on purpose. You clear your airways with a round of loud coughing, and eek out “What? Haven’t we already done that?”

He reaches over to steady you while you keep coughing, cheeks flushed nonetheless. “It is, uh, tradition for bride and groom to be... confined to a shack or room for the night to ensure... proper... consummation -- _dorogaya moya,_  are you alright?”

“Yeah.” You cough again and drop back in your seat, worn out from getting chunks of pancake out of your airways. You gasp for breath and take a moment to process what you were just told. “Well, as shocking as it was to hear that while I was eating  _breakfast_ , I can’t say I’m opposed to being locked in a room with you for the night.”

He smiles sheepishly and rubs his hand up and down you arm. “Sorry,  _myshka_. I should’ve waited until your mouth was empty.”

“It’s alright. I think I’ve got all the  _blini_  pieces out of my bronchial tubes.”

“Sorry. Can I get you some water?”

“Piotr, I’m  _fine_.” You smile and pat his hand reassuringly. “No real harm done, okay?”

He relaxes at that and settles back into his seat. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” You grin. “We’re going to have an awesome life together.”

He grins back. “You think so?”

“I  _know_  so.”

And, in moments like these, with a perfect summer’s day promising great things for the present and talk like this promising even better things for the future, what happened in your past stops mattering as much.

You’ve got a new life. You’ve got a new family and friends. You’ve got Piotr.

There’s nothing better for the universe to offer.


End file.
